Thenu Musliyar, a renowned Sufi master in South India was returning from the market. Feeling a little weary, he set his satchel down beneath the shade of a tree and rested for a moment. But when he opened it later at home, he found it full of ants. They must have climbed in from the base of the tree.
Sadness filled his heart. Perhaps the mother of these ants… the father… their little siblings… all might be waiting anxiously beneath that tree, wondering where their dear ones had gone.
Thenu Musliyar quietly walked back to that tree to return them home.
We see here the tenderness of those who have tasted the sweetness of subtle life. Their gaze sees more than ours. Their actions—though seemingly strange—are guided by an invisible depth. What lifts them to this state?
Insight. The Arabic word for it is firāsah. It shares its root with farīs—a predator’s prey. Just as prey is helpless in the grip of a beast, so too can no soul hide when met with true spiritual insight. It pierces to the core.
Al-Ḥusayn ibn Manṣūr (رحمه الله) once said:
“The first arrow shot by a person of insight always strikes the mark. They don’t need guesswork. They never drift into empty interpretations.”
Take this story of Abū Saʿīd al-Kharrāz (رحمه الله):
“I entered the sacred mosque,” he recounts. “There sat a dervish, draped in only two garments, begging from the people. I found myself judging him inwardly: People like this are a burden to society.”
The dervish looked up and said aloud:
“Be careful. Whatever lives in your heart—God is already aware.”
Abū Saʿīd was shaken and instantly repented in his heart.
The dervish added, “And it is God who accepts His servant’s repentance.”
This kind of vision isn’t born from intellect alone—it is the fruit of deep faith and refined spiritual perception. Such people can change the lives of others simply by their presence. They walk quietly, but light shines from within them.
Among them was ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān (رضي الله عنه).
One day, a man set out to visit him. On the way, the man passed by a beautiful woman and lingered in his gaze, staring for some time before continuing his journey. When he finally entered the gathering, ʿUthmān (رضي الله عنه) looked around and said:
“One of you has arrived with the marks of adultery staining his eyes.”
Shocked, the man blurted out, “Is divine revelation still descending even after the Prophet ﷺ?”
“No,” said ʿUthmān, “but insight remains. Inner perception. Discernment.”
The Qur’an says:
“إِنَّ فِي ذَٰلِكَ لَآيَاتٍ لِّلْمُتَوَسِّمِينَ”
“Indeed, in that are signs for those who observe with inner sight.” (15:75)
The sages say that to understand signs is to possess insight.
But how does one become a person of insight?
Shāh al-Kirmānī (رحمه الله), a master whose firāsah never faltered, listed these principles:
- Lower your gaze from all that is forbidden.
- Restrain your soul from following desire.
- Be ever-watchful of your sins.
- Hold fast to the path of the Prophet ﷺ.
- Eat only that which is pure and permitted.
To such a person, insight is gifted as a light that guides.
True insight helps one discern the right path in life. It requires a delicate awareness of both the inner and the outer worlds. And living alongside such souls is like walking in a garden of unseen fragrance—they sow seeds of stillness wherever they go.
Consider this story of Abū ʿAbdullāh al-Rāzī al-Nīsābūrī (رحمه الله):
Ibn al-Anbārī once stitched a cloak for him as a gift. One day, he spotted a cap on the head of the mystic Shiblī that perfectly matched his cloak. A fleeting desire rose in his heart: If only that cap had come with this robe.
When the gathering ended, Shiblī turned to him, as he usually did. Abū ʿAbdullāh followed him home. Upon arriving, Shiblī said:
“Take off your cloak.”
He handed it back, and Shiblī placed his cap on top of it. Then, without a word, he threw both into the fire.
To live with insight is not simply to see what others miss—it is to be so rooted in truth that even our subtlest thoughts are laid bare. It is to carry the humility to surrender desires the moment they arise. It is to touch the invisible, and yet walk gently in the visible.
Sometimes, it is to walk like Thenu Musliyar… retracing your steps, carrying ants back to their home.
